


Passing

by ollipop



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Backstory, Bel is a bad influence, Gen, Gender Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollipop/pseuds/ollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life as a mercenary meant less fighting then Bel was accustomed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing

Thornton Isobel Park-Nolan lacks a sense of purpose. Born in Quartz, but raised out in upper Trigeminon, it lost one parent to drowning but is stuck with a mother who swears she’s enough parent for two. Thornton Isobel is not looking for a good time. It is not a conduit of galactic peace. It does not represent the harmony or enlightenment of our modern age. It is merely a kid with acne in its stubble and a raging case of PMS.

+++

  
Things weren’t all that bad for Thorne, growing up on Beta Colony. Folks called it any name they pleased and picked whatever pronoun was handy; outside of Quartz, many herms passed as either male or female, and it was pleased to create a new persona every time that it and its mother moved. A couple years after the accident, though, they should have been settling down. Its mother Ti seemed to finally realize she would never gain enough credit for another child, stopped trying to find a coparent and went into hyperdrive on the child she had. Born female, she never really found entrance into the herm community, but wanted to emphasize that her child would not be held back by any lack of connections or cultural education. So many lessons, so many sports, so many carefully duenna’d friendships. Ti was determined to have her child work well, play well, live well. It was in the Trigeminon’s habitat that the child first overheard a “mentor” muse which gender it would eventually pick, and began to affectionately jibe that herms were people “pathologically incapable of making up their minds.” Out of sheer cussedness, Thornton resolved not to choose a side. It immediately looked through its current friendships and culled them, dumped its current partner, and felt a vicious satisfaction at the “thud”.  
  
Now presenting as Isobel, it began going to spaceports in long hair and white satin gloves. After the novelty of acting female wore off for the evening, “Izzie” would proceed to bait the meanest, burliest spacers in the bar, thereby learning to take a punch. And lose, more than a few times.  
  
The night that it met Ky Tung in dock, it was sporting short hair and a minidress. It ran a few games of poker on him, chatted up one of his lieutenants to get details on the most recent job, started promising cheap armament, finally acquired Ky’s credit account to prepay for an evening in the Orb, and then turned around and dumped security on the entire outfit before it left. That was a hell of a 23rd birthday.  
  
Thorne met Oser in a barfight--the man was drinking away a recently-earned combat bonus and Thorne was in drag as a man, just looking for a quiet night out and maybe a line on some new work. As it got into its cups, it forgot what it was wearing and batted its eyes at a loud young squad leader, with the usual violent consequences. This time, it managed to trounce the pup and his squad, who didn’t seem to be competent soldiers anyway. After the swelling went down on its eye, it found the vidcom blinking with a recruitment message from Oser.  
  
Life as a mercenary meant less fighting then Bel was accustomed to. It also meant a new name; the crumpled, oily flimsy form that it signed didn’t have enough characters for the legal name, and Oser groused, “I don’t care what you call yourself, cupcake, but I ain’t writing four names on your chit every month.” Bel’s awkward attempt at kanji was met with another low growl. After trying to weigh the gender of each of its four names, it took a deep breath and scrawled “Bel Thorne” across the top of the flimsy.  Three weeks later when the first chit appeared, Bel took a homemade forgery and opened a bank account with its new identity.

+++

The next three years melted by smoothly; the quasi-military routine of Oser’s Mercenaries gave Bel structure and a steady cash flow, though Bel got tired of having to prove its masculinity. Its crewmates were wary, occasionally, but didn’t mind the herm once it followed them into a fight. If those happened to be the barfights that Bel still started, well, practice made perfect.

+++

  
Ky Tung had commanded Bel for almost a week on the _Ariel_ before twigging to the fact that this was the herm that had given him so much trouble in years prior. While Bel was adept at playing the bland soldier, it couldn’t help but open its mouth to ask a question in a tacs briefing eventually. Ky spotted it as a hidden strategist and started putting pieces together. The next morning, Ky loomed over Bel in the mess hall and asked, “Just when do you plan to pay back my six hundred and fifty dollars?” Bel offered to sell him a vid of its birthday party at the Orb for the bargain price of one thousand.  
  
A few people remained unnerved by the herm’s pedigree, the scathing edge to its humor, and its refusal to take a joke on rules and regs. Bel cursed silently when it was put under one such yahoo for a blockade patrol. It didn’t mind animosity from Auson, but it also wasn’t going to learn anything from the foot-dragger, particularly not out in the armpit of nowhere.

The military edge to this crew seemed to subsume further with each orbit. Sniffing rebel ships and babysitting jump pilots got boring, and confiscating millifenigs lost its appeal about 30 seconds into the first inspection. Bel didn’t mind playing pirate in its private time, but didn’t like Auson’s little-man swagger. Bel suspected that Auson would start raping and pillaging within a month, and out in the black there was no Station Security to alert, no way to vanish from responsibility.

  
When Bel first spied the dwarf and the hideous grunt, it knew the CO was fraying and prayed that perhaps Auson would get a good clock in the nose. Bel wasn’t counting on getting clocked itself, particularly not by the work girl. It served Bel right for playing the part of chivalrous soldier, for worrying about her when she obviously had the same tricks up her sleeve as any other person routinely harassed by soldiers. That fight, like all the others, gave it something to learn. Another fucking growth opportunity.  
  
After Bel awoke and was chivvied into inspection, it was startled to find the little mutant stalking the line and thundering like Napoleon about the order that was about to be imposed. “Mister Naismith” was using the same lines as a score of ineffective drill sergeants, but for once, Bel’s colleagues seemed to be paying attention. Tinpot rebels just didn’t have that type of leadership; neither did mercenary owners. The little dwarf--admiral, surely--described a covert outfit the likes of which Bel had only dreamed of.

It wasn’t just the weapons, the _esprit de corps_ , or the promise of a policy handbook. Bel kept getting drawn back to Naismith by the total spontaneity of his words, the unapologetic twitch of his chin, the refusal to drop his gaze when soldiers sneered down at him.  At that moment, Bel resolved that it would follow the little admiral anywhere. _There_ , thought Bel, _now there is someone who would never pretend to be anyone he’s not._


End file.
